The Storm Has Passed

And finally
   as if a whisper broke in the wind and reached the ear
   of some inattentive deity
   who daydreams of better things while stirring chaos in the world

a cloud lifted
        angels parted skies
              a grievous fate was met
                   and then
                   my chains
                   of bondage
                   broke.

And clearly
   as if this was a given, parcel of prophecy fulfilling istelf
   the sleeping snapped away 
   in clanging clamor of racuous din growing out of everywhere at once

a mistake was righted
         and the heavens spun again
               in the correct direction
                    and stars
                    once more
                    called out
                    my name.

And all it took 
    was a simple brush with death
    (not mine, mind you, but
    something far worse than mine)
    and doubt parted like hospital curtains
    to reveal an ugly broken, naked truth:
    that sometimes foundations of sand
    can seem in Ego's twilight
    like a road of gold and diamonds
    to a place which
    in reality
    never existed...
                         ...at all.

And I wanted to die that day.
    I wanted to crush myself between mysery's wheels
   and adopt the pained contrition of a martyr
  to save you from your self-inflicted 
 lifelong
torture.

But when god finally spoke again to me
                                 I came to understand;
             I've already suffered enough for you
             (and you for me)
    and god has greater plans for my fate.
You however,
seem to be fucked.

But still you claim to hear his voice
   through the haze of alcohol
   and the moaning of strange boys on your neck.
   But the voice just leads you farther
   and farther
   and farther
   from a horizon of sanity.

Did I do this?
   Or was it done long 
   before I broke you?
   Are you the victim of your mother's
   perscription-pill rage,
   your father's absence,
   your stepdaddy's wandering hands,
   my unrestrained libido,
   or just a whore for self-destructive drama?

The storm has passed.

I am now beyond
     the horizon of concern,
      and my once-battered heart is again filled with song
       and I find that all I have for you
        in the truest sense
                                   is a wish
           that ONE DAY
           maybe
           just maybe
           you might be
           truly happy.

But that
            is up
                    to you.

She Sees Him As The Devil

In the dark depths of her mind,
    Where sense gives way to instinct,
        And fairy tales and metaphors breathe,
            She sees him as The Devil.

Yet she sleeps by his side,
    And with all passions laid to rest,
        With all their loving touch forgot,
            She avoids all his tenderness.

She fights within herself,
    Seeks no reason but a target for her rage,
        Waits to strike like cobra in the grass
            At the first fool who will near her venom.

And she wants to live for free,
    Tucked in loving arms without return,
        Rent, lights, food, love, all a selfless gift
            Her reward for undelivered virtue.

Is he a man at all?
All he does is wait.

            He wakes before her, and passes time,
        Hoping for a hint of a reason for their togetherness.
    When she rises, it is not to come to him,
But to walk out the door in a frustrated rush.

            In pain he recoils from her bite,
        But never fully walks away from her,
    Always looking for a possible path
To her warmer, gentle, missing self.

            And he sits alone and waits
        While she dances the night with other men
    And makes vacation plans with friends
In which he is not invited.

             He used to believe she was an angel,
         But now in his own dreaming
     She also wears the face
of a Dark Lord.

                                        For Anisha, day 11.